"A car turned out of the Millerstown Road and went toward the city about ten minutes before we discovered the bodies," Pickering replied evenly. "Why didn't you say so?" the detective asked sharply. "What kind of a car was it?" "A black limousine with wire wheels. I couldn't see the number." Robinson's humor seemed to have come back. "Now we're getting on," he said, rubbing his hands. "That's better. That's much better. If you gentlemen had just told me that in the first place we'd have saved all this time." He turned to the motorcycle policeman. "Feeney, go over to Millerstown and inquire if a black limousine with wire wheels stopped there to-night between eight and nine o'clock." A figure, unnoticed in the darkness, approached. It proved to be a lanky farmer, who spoke with a decided drawl. "I reckon I kin help ye thar. They was a big limozine tourin' car with wire wheels went through Millerstown 'bout ha'f past eight, quat' t' nine. I know, 'cause it durn near run me down." "Do you live in Millerstown?" the inspector questioned. "Yep! Come over t' see the accident." "Did that auto stop in Millerstown?" The farmer chuckled and expectorated. "It didn't even hesitate." "Can you tell us anything else about it?" I spoke up. The inspector glared at me. "I'll conduct this investigation, Mr.--err----" The farmer scratched his head. "Waal, nothin' much. It went too blamed fast fer me to git mor'n a right good look, but I did gee that it was full o' men an' the tail-light was bu'sted an' they wa'n't no license on it." "You're sure of that?" the inspector asked. "Yep!" he said, "I'm sure, 'cause I was goin' to report 'em." Again the inspector turned to Feeney, who had been listening intently. "Feeney, go in and tell the chief to issue instructions to all the force to keep an eye out for a black limousine with wire wheels, a broken tail-light and no license tag! My friend," he said, turning to the farmer, "I thank you for your information. By to-morrow night we'll have that car and the parties concerned. By gad! They had their nerve, running away after the accident. The damned rascals--killing people and then running away. I'll grill their toes for them." The malice of the little detective, his readiness to jump from one conclusion to another, reminded me for all the world of some disagreeable, little, barking dog that chases every passing vehicle.